Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 92

     Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes

     Which starlike sparkle in their skies;

     Nor be you proud, that you can see

     All hearts your captives; yours yet free:

     Be you not proud of that rich hair

     Which wantons with the lovesick air;

     Whenas that ruby which you wear,

     Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,

     Will last to be a precious stone,

     When all your world of beauty's gone.